Same Song, Different 'Verse
by ammcj062
Summary: AU. Sam Axe is a burned spy who needs backup on a job - but he does wish his retired Special Forces buddy Fiona would have chosen someone other than Michael Westen, ex-IRA terrorist and now freelance arms dealer.


Sam misses the eighties. Back then, you had your guys and they had their guys. Nobody cared (too much) about oil or religion. It was better that way. When you burned a guy back then, they knew. There was none of this cloak and dagger falsification bullshit.

Maybe that's why he got burned in the first place. Maybe he's finally too old for the job. But if there's anything Sam Axe has not lost as he aged it's his stubbornness. He's determined to find out what asshole decided to drop him in the middle of some very delicate negotiations with a wannabe Russian gangster. That's something you just don't do to a guy on your side who's worked his ass off for decades.

Fiona says they'll need back-up. Since she's the resident Miamian of the pair, Sam doesn't want to contradict her. But he does wish she would have chosen someone better than Michael Westen, IRA-made terrorist but now freelance arms dealer.

"Fi," he hisses as she shuts the door to the loft, low enough that Michael, lounging on the hood of the Charger below, won't hear. "Did you really have to choose _him?_"

Fiona peers down from the second-story platform at Michael who's shielding his eyes and looking at the two of them from his position lounging on top of the charger. She turns and flutters her eyes at Sam. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sam. Did you have another friend in mind?"

"Are you sure you're not just inviting him along so you have someone to fund your shopping trips?" he mutters back, and looks down at Michael with a forced grin. Just because he didn't have anyone who would talk to him until the burn notice was dealt with doesn't mean Fi had to bring it up.

Fi tuts; Sam wishes it were easier to rile her up. "Really," she drawls, "what would I need Michael for when I have Mr. Reynolds?"

"Mr. Reynolds like Miami-bred bimbos better?" Sam snarks back.

"The ditzier the better." She smiles sweetly in that way she has. "Besides, he's more your type of boy than mine."

More – "Fiona!" Sam knows that mixing business with pleasure never ends well. But he doesn't know what Fiona might have said to lure the unpredictable Michael Westen to Miami. Fi ignores his squawk of outrage and sashays down the steps. Sam hurries after her.

When the reach the pavement Michael rolls off the hood of Sam's car with easy grace Sam envies. "Fiona," he says, his mouth crinkling downwards the slightest bit. Sam heaves a silent sigh of relief; if he's displeased, it's probably Fi calling in a favor rather than her pimping Sam out, no matter what she'd implied. Fiona steps up and kisses him on the cheek. "Michael, meet Sam Axe. Sam, Michael Westen."

Sam takes the proffered hand. "Pleasure," he grits out. Michael's about to say something but Sam's ringing phone cuts the other man off. Sam checks the caller ID and presses the ignore button with a groan. "Oh, boy. "

"That Maddy?" Fiona asks innocently. Sam grunts. Yes, of course it's her. Only she would be able to find out his two-day old number that so far, he's only told to… "Fiona."

"Yes, Sam?" She's cocking her head to the side in that way she does when she's trying to avoid blame. Sam holds up his phone and shakes it at her. "You _told _her!" Michael's crossed his arms, and is looking at the pair of them with something like bemusement as Fiona blinks innocently. "Of course I told her, Sam. She's your sister; she just wants to spend time with you."

"She's –"

"I'm sorry to break up the therapy session," Michael interrupts with a heavy Irish brogue, "But can we please be getting to the job? I haven't got all day, y'know."

Fi rolls her eyes. "Well, until I forget about that time in Bombay, you have all of today and tomorrow, and every other day until we finish this." Michael scowls; Fi pats him on the cheek. "There's a good boy."

Sam raises an eyebrow at that – it must be a damn big favor Fi's calling in part of – and explains the whole situation to Mike, drug dealers and local bruiser gang and all. When he's done with the story, Michael sits in thought for a minute, nodding as he assimilates all the information.

Finally, he glances up at Sam, looking cheerful about the thought that just occurred to him. "Can we shoot them?" Sam stows away his wince for later as he wonders how long Miami will stay in one piece with Michael Westen in town.


End file.
